


there will be no tenderness

by stunt_pilots



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, One Night Stand, Smut, i have no idea what to tag tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 20:15:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18746323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stunt_pilots/pseuds/stunt_pilots
Summary: sex and violence ♫





	there will be no tenderness

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted on [TH](https://toyhou.se/~literature/19418.there-will-be-no-tenderness)

The heavy door closed behind her. Delithraviel breathed in the cold Windhelm air and wrapped her fur tighter around her.  It used to belong to a massive black bear. Felled by a single arrow with a poisoned tip.

They never saw her coming. Bears and more intelligent prey alike.

“It’s so good to see you again.”

The Dunmer turned her head sharply and her eyes met that of a beggar. Silda was one of the rare Nords Delithraviel tolerated.

“Silda. Lovely to see you.”

She pretended not to see the jealous look the beggar was giving her new coat. The famous Nord frost resistance didn’t amount to much if the rest of the outfit would barely count as rags.

Delithraviel thought about her options. Going straight to Candlehearth Hall was the easiest. A pouch of gold weighed against her hip, heavy with the money she’d made from the bear and her last contract.

In a blink of an eye, she’d made the decision.

“This is for you,” the Dunmer said, extending Silda some of her gold. “Talk to Niranye. Tell her I sent you. She ought to have something warm to wear.”

The beggar extended her palm eagerly, but Delithraviel wouldn’t let go of the gold that easily.

“I’ll come around later. If I find out you’ve never been to see her, this will be the last money you get from me. Are we clear?”

“Yes, milady, yes!”

“Good. Try not to drink the rest away.”

Only then Delithraviel deposited the money into the woman’s palm.

“A thousand blessings to you!”

Silda bowed as low as her knees would allow her, and scurried off to the market. Delithraviel wrinkled her nose and turned towards the inn. Beggars were useful, but by Mephala, they  _ smelled. _ There was a chance Niranye might not accept her story, but the merchant was also a fence. She would not question where the money came from.

Delithraviel’s mind turned elsewhere when she opened the heavy oak doors of the Candlehearth Hall. The smells of ale, sweat, and candlewax permeated the air.

“Welcome to Candlehearth Hall.” Elda Early-Dawn greeted her crisply. Very different from the first time Delithraviel opened the doors to the inn. The proprietor wasn’t fond of Dunmer, same as most of the Windhelm residents. Delithraviel wasn’t just any other Dunmer. Elda must have seen something in her dark purple eyes because she never made that comment again.

Delithraviel settled on a chair at the bar. The warmth was welcome. Her people weren’t made for the cold Skyrim weather. And Windhelm was the worst offender.

“What will it be?”

“Do you have pie?”

Delithraviel must have been the only person who came here and didn’t ask for ale. She never got the taste for the Skyrim soup Skadi liked so much, either.

The innkeeper disappeared and came back a few moments later, carrying a meat pie in her arms. Delithraviel smelled it. It wasn’t human. She threw some coins on the table and began eating.

Elda was clearly uncomfortable before her and didn’t spend any more time on small talk than she had to and shuffled off to discuss something with Nils.

Delithraviel took off the heavy fur and put it on a nearby chair. The snow-soaked fur was more trouble inside than outside. She should get warmed up in other ways soon.

Another customer came in and Elda was forced to return to her usual post. Delithraviel thought she saw a scowl on the Nord woman’s face. Elda was a sharp one. She must have noticed there was something unpleasant about Delithraviel. More than just her race, or purple hair.

“Have you seen any mercenaries lately? I’d like to hire one,” the Dunmer asked.

Elda scrutinized her for a long moment before offering a reply.

“I thought you hired Stenvar two weeks ago? I expected to see him with you.”

“Got caught in a trap,” Delithraviel explained. That was one of the things that happened to him in the end. The rusty bandit device he stepped on wasn’t even the worst.

“Shame. He was a good one.”

The Dunmer shrugged. “He was.”

It took him a painfully long time to die. Delithraviel had made sure he didn’t have his iron greatsword on him when he did. It would have made it unpleasant for both of them. He didn’t carry anything valuable other than the 500 septims Delithraviel had hired him for, minus a few coins he’d spent on booze. His steel armor was bulky and cheap, not worth the trouble it would require bringing it to a merchant. In the end, he even looked almost peaceful.

“Maebjorn Arrow-Eye,” Elda said. “He’s upstairs.”

“Thanks.”

Sounded like a Nord name. That was good. Delithraviel liked them for a certain type of work, and they didn’t ask for a lot. Some coin and a promise of another warm body during a cold night sometimes were enough. They had enough stamina to last more than a couple of minutes and some liked hides which didn’t leave much room for imagination. Others took guilty pleasure in being topped by a Dunmer. Those who had issues were quickly silenced, be it her tongue or her blade.

Delithraviel pushed the plate further and got up, taking her coat with her. It still smelled of bear. She found it reassuring.

The usual people lined the walls of the second floor. Maebjorn wasn’t hard to find. Everyone else was familiar to her.

The Nord man was rather short, but as she had found, that was not indicative of their capabilities. Some said it was proportional with the size of their feet, but Delithraviel didn’t believe that either. Dark brown hair fell just below his strong jaw, so perfect for biting. No beard, either. He can’t have been older than thirty. The bow on his back explained his name. His leather armor did a poor job concealing his strong chest.

He noticed the newcomer before she closed in on him, and a wry smile split his face. One corner was higher than the other.

Delithraviel approached him with confident steps. “I hear you’re a mercenary for hire.”

“That I am.”

“You good with a blade?” Her eyes lingered briefly on a small dagger fastened to his hip.

“If the situation requires, I can be.”

The annoying smile never left his face.

“Looks rather small.”

“It’s the perfect size.”

“How much?”

“Five hundred. Three if I can feel your lips around my--”

“Done.”

She unfastened a pouch from her belt and threw it into his lap.

“Five hundred. You can count it if you wish. I’m going to rent a room. We leave early.”

The youth snapped to attention like he’d been whipped. “Yes, ma’am.”

“And don’t call me that.”

 

The room was small, with a single bed and scarcely decorated. Several candles lit the walls. A small table held an assortment of food, a bottle of wine and a jug of water.

“How do we share the bed?” Maebjorn grinned. There was a challenge in his voice.

“We don’t. You’ll sleep on the floor.”

“Can I at least have that fur to cover myself with?”

“You can have some of that wine on the table, but I need you sober tomorrow.”

“That won’t be a problem.”

Delithraviel settled down in one of the chairs and allowed herself to examine her new companion while he wasn’t looking. Strong legs. Muscular back. One shoulder was better developed from using the bow. Large hands that showed he was no stranger to hard work. No visible scars meant he was either good at avoiding them or hadn’t seen enough battle to earn any.

The dark-haired man extended a glass of red liquid to her.

“I don’t drink.”

“More for me.”

He settled into the opposite chair, his legs spread as if daring her eyes to travel between them, an easy smile playing on his lips as he sipped the wine.

“What do you do?” Maebjorn asked after his first glass.

“I am a traveler.”

“You seem to be better off than most I’ve met.

He nodded to her cloak on the dresser and his eyes stayed on her chest longer than necessary. He was right, however; her clothes were well-made and expensive. The dark blouse, embroidered with a fine thread, was wrapped with a belt made of dragonhide. Leather pants that didn’t restrict movement.

“I’ve been doing this for a long time.”

“You don’t look that old.”

“You have a lot of things to learn about Dunmer,  _ sera. _ ”

There was that annoying lopsided smile again. “Perhaps you will show me?”

She left her chair and approached him. Maebjorn held his breath. She could see the muscles in his arms tense up.

“Perhaps,” Delithraviel said in a teasing tone, and leaned closer, putting one hand on the back of his chair. She was close enough to his face to see small beads of perspiration on his forehead. “It is time to sleep,” she finished the sentence and blew out a candle behind him.

 

Delithraviel listened in the dark. She had given her companion the blanket off the bed, choosing to sleep under her fur, and he was left to find the most comfortable spot on the carpet. He didn’t look as cheerful as he had earlier, perhaps convinced nothing would be happening that night.

Delithraviel bid her time, waiting until Maebjorn’s breathing became slow and even. She had learned to tell whether someone was asleep or only pretending a long time ago. It was a crucial skill for an assassin. Sleeping targets were easy, especially if disposed of before they could make a sound. More targets, especially awake ones, presented more of a challenge, and challenge was fun.

But Delithraviel would be seeking a different type of fun that night. Killing mercenaries in an inn they were hired was bad for many reasons.

The Dunmer unlaced her pants and left them on a chair as she tiptoed to the sleeping man on the floor. He was snoring quietly and didn’t stir when she drew the blanket off. He had taken off the top part of his leathers. His muscular chest rose and fell uninterrupted as she turned his body into a more comfortable position and unbuckled his armor.

His limp cock rested on his muscular thigh. It smelled clean enough, if a bit sweaty after a day, or several, in leather armor.

She positioned herself, licked her right hand and began working on it, using her left to prepare herself.

Maebjorn woke up with a startled cry, instinctively reaching for a dagger that should have been on his hip, but the assassin was prepared for this. She put her left hand on his lips, well aware it still smelled of her. It would calm him down.

Maebjorn relaxed and lay down on the ground again. Confident he wouldn’t let out another sound, Delithraviel withdrew her hand. Strong fingers wrapped around her wrist and a wet tongue licked her hand clean. Perhaps he was experienced, after all.

She returned her hand to her crotch and continued rubbing herself. It came easier, knowing at least a part of him was inside her. Her nipples hardened under the strong fabric of her blouse. She wondered how well the mercenary could see in the dark. Not as well as her, for sure.

He hadn’t been lying idly, shifting his body to accommodate her better. With one hand he grabbed her buttock and another sought out the fastings of her blouse.

Delithraviel felt she was wet enough and mounted him, guiding him inside with one hand and began moving rhythmically. Hands shaking, Maebjorn tried to untangle the knot of her blouse. She didn’t help him. Instead, she let her hair loose, allowing them to cascade across her back.

The knot untied, the Nord began working on the buttons with trembling hands, his lower lip bit in concentration. Her breasts fell out and rough hands caressed them. Delithraviel found the sensation pleasant. She liked men with rough hands.

Maebjorn moved his hands to her buttocks, his eyes never leaving her chest. She increased the pace, turned on by the wet sounds and soft moans they both made. Sensing a louder noise coming, she put one of her hands on his mouth again, then slipped two fingers inside, allowing him to suck on them. Confident he wouldn’t make another noise, she moved her hands to his chest, teasing his nipples.

His hips jerked slightly, indicating he was about to come. Delithraviel kept riding him even after he let out a soft noise and bit his lip to quiet himself, and she felt wetness running down her thigh. He kept to the rhythm, allowing her to get satisfied before she too shuddered with pleasure, suddenly aware of the cold sweat on her back and armpits.

She left him lying on the carpet in a pool of their sweat and bodily fluids. Discarding her blouse on the chair, she found a clean cloth inside her knapsack and poured some water on it from the jug. She began cleaning herself off, well-aware that Maebjorn’s eyes would have adjusted to the darkness and he could see her every move. She reveled in it.

As she washed the last of his smell off herself, she came back to her bed, waiting for him to ask her for the cloth, or a place by her side, but the mercenary remained silent.

 

The next day, neither of them said a word about their nightly activities. Maebjorn acted like a puppy dog, eager to please, doing everything Delithraviel asked of him. He didn’t complain about the early departure either.

“Where are we going?” he asked, as they left Windhelm. Delithraviel led him past the farms, and the road became steeper.

“There’s a tower ruin nearby with a troll inside. Think you’re up for it?”

“I am!”

She drew her blade as they approached.

“I’ve never seen an ebony sword like that,” Maebjorn commented.

“It is one of a kind.”

“Where did you get it?”

“Quiet!”

She could see the snow troll, feasting on a bandit’s remains. She sent a small fireball above its head. The troll straightened out, roaring and looking around for his attacker.

Maebjorn’s bow twanged and his arrow found its way into one of the troll’s three eyes. The beast yelped with pain and clawed at the piece of wood. Before it could recover fully, Delithraviel charged at it, swinging the ebony blade, cutting one arm clean off. The other swung at her and she ducked. Another arrow lodged itself in the troll’s back. After that, it didn’t take long for it to go down. The dark-haired Nord screwed his face, listening to the troll’s dying yelps until Delithraviel put her blade through its heart. She’d had too much experience with death for it to make her uncomfortable.

She wiped her hands off the blood on the snow while her companion looked around for anything valuable. He seemed satisfied with the bandit’s armor and whatever gold he had on him.

“What’s next?”

Delithraviel looked at him, smiling his annoying smile again. She had begun to like it.

“The blade of Mephala is strengthened by the blood of deceit. It requires the last sacrifice.”

“What’s that mean?”

Those were the last words he spoke before letting out a short gasp as the air left his lungs.

The assassin knew where to cut to make it efficient and how to prolong death for as long as possible. Maebjorn’s death was short. She watched his lifeless body collapse on the ground as it slid off the blade.

_ “At last, my blade is returned to its full glory. Now go forth, child. Continue your tiny subversions against the orders of trust and intimacy.” _

Mephala sounded happy. If a Daedra could be happy.

Delithraviel wiped the blood off the blade, now at its full strength.

She found the pouch of gold on the mercenary she’d given him the night before, as well as a few coins he’d taken off the other corpse, and hid it inside her knapsack. She gathered the three bodies, gathered them in a pile and set them ablaze. She sheathed the blade. It didn’t feel any different.

She couldn’t come back the way they’d arrived. People would have seen them come up and would ask questions about what had happened to her companion. Delithraviel turned towards the mountain. It was a hard climb, but she would manage. The bear fur was keeping her body warm. Her heart hadn’t felt warm in more than two hundred years.


End file.
